I'm bored and restless, but is that a bad thing?

The American culture pushes people to be in constant motion.  People always have to be somewhere, always have to be doing something.  I feel like the human relationship with time had changed radically since the rise of the Machine during the Industrial Revolution.  Humans no longer move at nature's pace, by the passing of the seasons, and the natural cycles of life and planets.  Everything is so sped up and discombobulated.  And that's how I feel - frazzled, out of synch, disconnected.  For me, these time pressures disconnect me from my natural rhythm and leave me feeling further and further behind.  In this advanced, highly complex society, I find myself rushing to keep up, destroying my own sanity.

I want to reconnect with my natural rhythm.  Like animals.  Animals accept their own state of being and that of others; they live for the moment.  Likewise, plants cycle gracefully through life as they emerge, bloom, flourish, then wither away.  Humans have such a violent need for control and a crippling inability to accept their own state of being.  Anti-aging cosmetics, plastic surgery, "mid-life crisis", all imply the incapability of acceptance - a need for change.

America is all about making money and keeping busy.  It makes many people, including myself, feel a sense of diminished success.  It pathologizes idle, resting time, calling it "laziness" and a "waste of time".  In Nepal, people dedicate 8 hours of their day gathered around drinking tea, appreciating another day of life and togetherness.  America doesn't even want to take a break to eat, being the largest fast-food consumer in the world.  Even communication is harmed by the technologically-crazed culture and the need for "efficiency".  The problem with that in modern culture is that efficiency is synonymous with speed.  This affects people's tolerance and the quality of language and communication.  I'm going off topic.

Back to the idea of keeping busy, I have been having trouble doing so.  I spend the majority of my days watching Netflix and journaling.  I've watched many episodes and many seasons of many TV shows, my journal is running out of pages, and the couch has a crater where I sit.  Recently, I started practicing more piano, but it's been difficult due to lack of inspiration.  I need some inspiration.  I should be getting a response from my job interviews within the next couple weeks, and IF I get hired, I will have a work schedule which means I will be able to commit to volunteering for an amazing organization called School on Wheels.  Maybe that will get me inspired.  Who knows.  Basically, this fast-paced, "efficient", and need-to-be-busy culture causes me anxiety and distress.  I just want to move at my own natural pace, free of guilt.

Free but not really

I have finally completed my time at treatment.  5 months of it got me where I am today: healthy, assertive, self-loving, a little constipated, and about 20 pounds heavier. My hair and nails grow much more quickly, my heart rate is no longer that of a chihuahua's, and I can eat at restaurants like a semi-normal person.  Of course 5 months haven't reversed all the damage I've done to myself, and I still have issues with food, but for what it's worth, I've made pretty damn good progress.  159 days of abstinence, 159 days of resisting urges, 159 days of clarity.  I am living proof that people can change.
Now that I am out of treatment, I have to begin planning.  Ideally, I would like to travel and couch-surf until my heart's content, but my future will be unstable.  If I get a job and live a structured set of months, I will be secure - financially, at least - but I think I will feel unsatisfied, emotionally.  I want to treat myself.  I want to allow myself to relax and take a mental vacation.  Plans, expectations, and obligations are what brought me to my addictions in the first place.   A break sounds like a good idea, but sometimes I think I'm being naive.  If I live the other way - making decisions based on how they will affect my future - I feel like I will remain stuck and fearful.  I've missed out on so much of life and now, I want to take advantage of and celebrate my new-found health and happiness, but would that be irresponsible/naive/impractical?  Even though I wonder all this, my fear of being unstable in the future will immobilize me, which is why I have already turned in a couple job applications. I'm not unhappy with my decision because I have accepted the sad truth that we need financial stability, but I am a little bitter of having to be stuck with obligations.  On the bright side, I can save up the money I make from my job and work on plan B: take classes at a community college, re-start my child-sponsorships, adopt a dog, and buy a piano.
In treatment, I felt like a newborn who just opened her eyes for the first time, and now, out of treatment, I feel like I've just learned how to walk on my own. I will be with my eating disorder for years to come, and without the help of a treatment facility to go to, I'm ready to test my strength and determination.  I'm excited for what the weeks and months ahead hold for me.

Somebody has to say it

1. Noisy kids and their parents.

If you are in a public space, watch and discipline your kids.  I love kids but I can't stand the obnoxious, inconsiderate ones especially in a mall, restaurant, or a grocery store.  Yea, screaming and bawling is their way of expressing themselves but have some manners, you little fucks. And parents, have some consideration and manners yourselves, before I snatch your little "big guy" or "princess" away and shove them into oncoming traffic.

2. Baggy pants.

The purpose of pants is to cover you from the waste down, not from the bottom of your ass down.  They buy pants that are 5 sizes too small, they look like blind paraplegics who tried to dress themselves, and they waddle like they've just been gang-raped.  They're a shame to the supposed "civilized" human beings.

3. Mustache.

What's the deal with mustaches lately?  Hipster or not, it's ridiculous.  First it was the high-rising 80's pants that girls brought back, now you see mustaches on everything, even the fuzzy, pink ones on car grills.  What's next? Overalls?  Platform shoes?

4.  People who say "bless you" after someone sneezes.

Who is blessing whom?  Unless you are the one and only "chosen one", you do not have the power to bless anyone or anything.  What are you blessing them for?  And why do people get offended when someone doesn't say "bless you" after they sneeze?  Do they really need an ethereal affirmation after a natural bodily function?  If you believe in that kind of stuff and have the power to bless others, bless yourself and get on with it.  

5. "I like your outfit".
First of all, it's not "their" outfit.  They didn't design it.  Second, if you say "I like your outfit", don't get offended when the person doesn't say "thank you".  Because they didn't design it.  If the person does say "thank you", both of you are stupid.  Third, if you want to say something positive about someone's outfit and expect a "thank you", say something like, "I like your taste".  Fourth, don't be so vain.

6. Talking loudly on the phone.

The person you're talking with can hear you just fine.  In fact, the person might be holding his phone away from his face because you're so damn loud.  Not only can the person on the other line hear you clearly, but so can everyone around you in a 40-foot radius.

7. Women who wear too much perfume or smell like makeup.

8. It's "caramel", not "carmel".

Is it so hard to pronounce that extra vowel?  Who started saying "carmel" anyway?  It's caramelized butternut squash, it's caramelized onions, NOT carmelized.  

5 years in recovery

In 5 years, I'll be 29: young enough to travel, old enough to know how to file my own taxes.  What will my life look like? 5 years in recovery seems like nothing compared to 10 years in my addictions.  Ideally, I would be in school studying a foreign language (maybe German), education, and cooking.  I would work in a music library, as a piano teacher, or in an animal shelter, and on the weekends, I would either stay home with my husband (?) and kids (?) in our pajamas, or take all of us to the zoo or a theme park.  I would have already traveled to Greece, Germany, and Ireland, and I would be an amazing cook.  During spring/winter/summer breaks, my kids and I would not be in school, so we would spend a lot of time in the kitchen baking things like peanut butter cookies and blueberry muffins that my husband would enjoy after a long day at work.  I would be able to have just one drink and be satisfied, and I would know how to swim and ride a bike. I would be able to read scary stories to my kids in the dark with just a flashlight.  I would teach my kids to be open-minded and know right from wrong.  I would be able to sit with happiness, sadness, and anger without isolating or acting out.  I would be accepting of my body, and be fully present during sex.  I would have quit smoking cigarettes and I would be recycling responsibly, not littering, and flossing every day.  I would take yoga classes and go on runs/walks every morning with my dog, not to maintain or lose weight but to be physically healthy.  I would appropriately let go of grudges and forgive myself for mistakes.  I would not have much material possessions, but my heart will be full of joy and contentment. Now that I think about it, I won't be able to do much after I have kids..unless I get a nanny.

News flash

It's all real.  I sometimes forget how real this is.  I was in so much pain for the last decade.  I deprived myself and abused myself so much, so violently.  I isolated and separated myself from my own potential.  I put guards up and used my sharp edges to keep people out.  I've not allowed myself to make deep, real connections with people and only roamed the earth making casual acquaintances.  And for that, I'm friendless and detached.  I forget how much damage I've done to myself and it feels unreal.  I'm surprised I didn't have a heart attack from all the purging and from my body having to constantly be in over drive to compensate for my starving.  I'm grateful for having started treatment before it was "too late".  Treatment just seems like repetitive, monotonous social skills-learning, but taking a step back, I realize, "I have an eating disorder.  I got myself here.  I can't have a "normal" life without going through intense psychological repair, and I will probably be  forever enslaved to food."  I've put myself through a 10-year suicide and it's come down to treatment, or death.
FYI: Eating disorders are the most fatal forms of mental illnesses, and it's a shame that its research is the least funded among all others'.

If I were a soul without a body

I've been in treatment since the beginning of the year, and I've come to the point where I have to make plans for what to do once I'm out.  My insurance has bumped me down to 4 days a week, by my request.  I feel ready for discharge and I never thought I'd be able to say that.  Being in treatment has provided a safe, valid excuse for avoiding "real world responsibilities."  "I can't pay bills because I don't have a job"..."I can't get a job because I'm in treatment"..."I'm in treatment because I'm not mentally stable".  I think I'm almost ready to join the rest of society, but only in terms of eating like a normal person.  When I'm out of treatment, I want to allow myself to live life.  I want to travel and take a break and get out of my head.  I've been trapped in my addictions, I've been trapped in my destructiveness for so long.  I want to take healthy risks, I want to just get away.  It doesn't sound very realistic.  In order to be stable and successful in today's society, I know I'll need to find a job and all that stuff, but realistically, I want a break.  I want to go camping and roast marshmallows for the first time.  I want to go to the airport and get a one-way ticket to Bali and immerse myself in their culture, go to Italy and visit vineyards, go to Greece and lay on the beaches.  I want to travel the country in a Winnebago with my boyfriend and a dog.  I want to give healthy attention to my body and I want to nourish my soul.  When I'm out of treatment, I don't want to find a job right away.  I don't want a 9-5 lifestyle.  My whole life has been structured chaos.  I want to break free from rules, obligations, and the societal chains that restrict me from being a free spirit.  I feel like I've wasted so much of my life isolating and self-destructing.  I feel like the characters in "Dogtooth": aware of nothing outside of the home, indulging and making best of what is known, completely wasting away the preciousness of exploring the outside.

Dear Body,

You have been my vessel for nearly 24 years.  I'm sorry for letting you be violated and abused for so long.  I'm sorry for neglecting you for many years and causing irreversible damage.  I feel so disconnected to you.  I always have.  Ever since I was a child, especially since "those particular incidences", I thought of you as a target of pain, something that never goes away and is an unwanted reminder of something horrible, like bedbugs or herpes. I marvel at others' bodies and others' abilities to accept and show off their bodies.  How can some people carry themselves so elegantly through this world and place themselves in social situations so gracefully.  I see you as the product of 2 people who, I would like to believe, loved each other, but I don't want to fool myself.  You are a physical, tangible representation of the ugliness of my parents' relationship.  You're nothing but a shameful object to me.  But you have protected me from diseases and cold weathers, although poorly.  Slowly but surely, I'm entertaining the idea of your physical fluidity.. your malleability.  And I'm starting to take better care of you.  I'm nourishing you with food - something I have deprived you of for nearly half my life.  I've taken away harmful substances and I'm not hurting you as much.  I feel like I'm just getting to know you, the real you, without the misinformation my malnourished brain has been giving me.  My eyes, which I consider distorted, conniving lenses, are not kind to me.  I wish I could replace them with those who tell me, "I wish you could see what I see in you."  I'm stuck with you.  Unless I do some morbid limb/boob/skin/eyeball transplant.  But that's highly unlikely.  I need to be comfortable in you, or at least be comfortable in my dissatisfaction with you.  This is as good as it's gonna get.

Sincerely,

Me